


drink a toast to never

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Tea, set during season 2, tim and sasha mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "I just came here for a uh, cuppa, yknow." Martin says from the doorway, making no move towards the counter and cupboard where the tea is stored.Ah."Yes uh. Oh. Be warned: there is no more Earl Grey. found that out the hard way."Martin looks up at him with a slight smile"Oh, okay well. Good thing I keep some extra in my desk then."He pauses a moment."Want a cup?"
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	drink a toast to never

**Author's Note:**

> me writing fic after listening to the s5 trailer: TEA they will have their TEA!!!!!!!!! 
> 
> set midway s2? I never really got the exact timeline down

Jon is sorting through statements when he reaches for a cup of tea he hadn't realized he had been drinking. (He recognizes distantly, that Martin probably left it on his desk earlier.) 

When he picks up his cup, the page the mug had been set on sticks to the bottom momentarily, leaving behind an obvious stain. Jon grumbles, and picks up the statement, inspecting the damage. A ring is left behind where the bottom of his cup met the page, and he can't help but run his fingers over it. 

The paper crinkles pleasantly, reminding him of all the journals and notebooks he had at one point started keeping but soon enough given up on. Thinking about it now almost makes him smile.

Back before he started working at the institute, he had got in the habit of: picking up a new journal, writing obsessively for hours at a time, and then putting it down the next day and never thinking about it again. He had felt self conscious and guilty about it once. (Long before the stakes became so much greater. Before, before...) 

Before things like that had stopped mattering. He now knows those things never mattered to begin with, anyways. 

He also knows, distantly, that there are boxes somewhere in his flat, full of near-empty notebooks that he couldn't bear to get rid of once. Full of half finished thoughts and observations. Snippets of grocery lists and very likely, much as he would be loathe to admit, song lyrics. He had enjoyed writing then, he thinks. The writing process had never mattered much to him. (with some...exceptions. His songwriting phase was not one he engaged people in conversation about often.) It was just the sensation of writing. Putting pen to paper. Feeling the crinkle of ink-soaked pages…

Maybe he should start a journal again. It would be nice to have somewhere other than the tape recorders to organize his thoughts.

The tea-stained paper is tucked away to be copied and re-archived. And so, in celebration of this small accomplishment, Jon takes a sip from the now-cold cup. It's not too bad, actually, the Archivist muses. If he were less exhausted from the work he might have been more cautious, but as things are he appreciates the needed refreshment. He clears his throat. He's much more thirsty than he had realized. 

And what do you know, sitting in the same position for too long tends to do a number on your back. His shoulders ache, and tension is creeping up his neck to his temples. In a whispered paraphrase he repeats a line from one of Georgie's old yoga DVDs to himself. "Deep breath in, deep breath out. Feel every joint and muscle move with each respiration."

He can feel a migraine taking root, which just isn't fair, because he still had some reading to do, and he actually got some sleep for once, last night, and, and,

Maybe it would do him good to walk around for a bit.

Jon takes another deep breath, then another sip of tea, and heads towards the break room.

_______

In Tim's words: 'Martin had been fretting all day.' 

But he hadn't! 

Martin has been showing, what he thinks, is a reasonable amount of concern for a friend (..scratch that, acquaintance) and coworker (boss?) whose mental health seems to be steadily declining.

It wasn't unusual for Jon to disappear for hours at a time into the statements- after all, it was their job. But something about the past few days had Martin on edge. Constantly bouncing his leg. Stuck thinking about the statements Jon had him researching last week. 

Shapeshifters. Impersonators. 

People being completely replaced, and no one around them seeming to notice. 

Funny that of all the horrors he'd read about, and recently, witnessed, this was the one that really got to him. Man-eating spiders and men with knife-sharp fingers are all good and scary. And G-d knows Martin's become a little less fond of worms after Prentiss's attack…

But it had him thinking.

If one day someone he cared for, or, or even he himself was replaced, would he know? I mean, obviously if he was replaced, he would be dead… But would his coworkers or acquaintances, or ...his own family accept this Stranger as the person they had known and loved? 

It was enough to make Martin, not-so-secret romantic and cautiously optimistic believer in the power of human relationships, more than a little sad. 

And paranoid, as well. It didn't help that Sasha had been acting strange lately. And that Jon had clearly been stalking them all. Following Tim back to his flat and talking to himself at length when he thought the others couldn't hear.

Yes, paranoia. There certainly seemed to be plenty of that going around.

The other day Martin had caught Jon not-so-stealthily rifling through Martin's desk. Hands flying around in drawers, messing with pens and paperwork; clearly desperate for something. When caught, Jon had made some sheepish excuse about having "Lost his key to the office." and slouched away quickly, leaving Martin with flushed cheeks and, unbeknownst to him, one less file on his desk than he had previously.

It was a gross invasion of his privacy, sure. But Martin was just grateful Jon hadn't found his journal or any of his, well, his poetry. Things already weren't great between the two of them, no need to make things worse or weird with an embarrassing look into Martin's personal life. Now would not be a good time for Jon to find out he had lied on his CV. 

Martin made a mental note to put his journal in his bag before he left the archives.

Likely Jon had just wanted the research on shapeshifters to corroborate his theories about previous statements, but still. All the work Jon had been gathering lately, coupled with his recent paranoia and invasions of everyone's privacy…

An air of foreboding hung over the archives, one Martin couldn't shake as he made his way to the breakroom to make himself a cup of tea.

_______

They were out of tea bags. 

More specifically, they were out of the kind Jon actually liked.

Which was fine. It was fine, it didn't matter. But Jon was so, so tired, and could really do with a cup of earl grey right now. It wasn't even that he needed the caffeine, he just needed something comforting. Something he knew wasn't out to get him. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Don't think about who or... or what might be out to get you. Breathe. Keep a clear head. Gather information. Know. Understand. 

But it's hard to keep calm when you're not safe. When the Who or What who killed your predecessor might still be around. When you're tired and can't even make yourself a fucking cup of tea-

Frustrated, the Archivist swings the cabinet door closed with a bit more force than necessary, startling both himself and Martin, who had just stepped into the room.

Jon shrinks slightly. "Oh I, er…"

"Hey,"

"I was just, hm. It's been a long day. Um."

"Yeah, I understand that."

Relieved at the lack of judgement in Martin's voice, the Archivist turns his body away so he doesn't have to face the concerned expression on his face. He looks down at the counter, pretending a spot of soapy water that splashed up from the sink while someone was washing their mug is the most interesting thing he's seen all day. 

"I just came here for a uh, cuppa, yknow." Martin says from the doorway, making no move towards the counter and cupboard where the tea is stored.

Ah.

"Yes uh. Oh. Be warned: there is no more Earl Grey. found that out the hard way."

Martin looks up at him with a slight smile  
"Oh, okay well. Good thing I keep some extra in my desk then."  
He pauses a moment.  
"Want a cup?" 

Jon files that bit of trivia about Martin away for the moment (How did he not notice that when he went through his desk?? was that a recent development? He'd need to stay back again tonight and investigate more…) and frowns slightly, considering. 

"You know, I would. Thank you." The Archivist tries to keep his voice even. Tries to not betray how tired he is. It's vulnerability, something he can't show right now. He can't risk it. Martin seems innocent enough, but if there's anything that's stuck with him recently, reading statements about… well, the "not-people", it's that there's very few people he can afford to trust besides himself. 

And so Jon follows Martin reluctantly to the assistant's office, unsure of what else to do.

Tim eyes Jon warily and Sasha barely bothers to look up from her laptop as Martin pulls a small box out of the lower drawer in his metal desk. Jon realises, faintly, that Martin has been trying to make conversation.

"And you know, well, how it is." 

He hums in agreement, hoping that whatever he has agreed to, he does know: 'how it is'. Or at least it was something harmless. God. What if Martin just confessed to having committed some terrible supernatural crime and Jon didn't even notice because he was too tired. Sloppy. Out of it and unprepared.

It was unlikely, but he should've been paying better attention. He feels a twinge of guilt at not having listened now, and tells himself it's just because he wasn't taking enough precautions. That it's because he, Jon, should be more careful. More aware. and ignores how pleasant it is to just hear Martin speak. He has a nice voice.

_______

Martin ends up making the tea for both of them.  
Jon's pretty out of it, and as far as Martin can tell, not actually listening to him. Plus, and he wouldn't tell anyone this, he doesn't actually trust Jon's tea making ability. He's sure Jon could make a good cup if he wanted to, but well...

Martin's seen Jon microwave an old cup in the breakroom often enough to know he'd like his own brew better.

Jon takes the cup Martin passes to him gratefully, still staring somewhere out into the breakroom wall. And he looks… well, he's Jon so of course he looks tired, but there's a deeper level of exhaustion there. Martin tries not to think about it. If his boss wants to run himself into the ground, well, then that's his problem. But that's really not fair, is it. Because clearly, things are much worse than him simply neglecting his good night's sleep. Stalking your coworkers is certainly not healthy behavior, and they'd all been through it with the..worms. But this isn't Martin's mess. He has to keep reminding himself of that. He can help all he wants, bringing tea and encouraging Jon to sleep, but at the end of the day...

Jon takes a sip of the tea and hums. If Martin didn't know better, he'd say Jon was smiling. 

"Thank you, Martin."

Martin is speechless for a moment before he replies. "Oh its, no bother really. You're welcome."

"Hm. Well back to work then." Jon stretches, setting his cup down and picking it back up again. 

"Right, of course. See you around" 

Jon nods and starts to make his way back to his office, but turns around in the doorframe.  
"You know Martin, this is probably the best tea I've ever had." And then he turns away, leaving Martin with his cup, and a warm feeling gathering in his chest. He can't help but smile and his face flushes and.. 

...Oh. Darn.

**Author's Note:**

> Figuring out you have feelings for your paranoid boss sucks, huh.
> 
> it would've been insanely epic and sexy of me if I'd gone back over and edited this some more but my meat is huge, and therefore my brain is tiny, so this is what u get.


End file.
